It seems like a good point for jumping onto the 20th anniversary of an album that we only half-remember now. I knew that this particular date was coming up, but I was hoping that it would be much quieter than it was in the press. And then I realized that in a hemisphere where there are still people who think that Elvis Presley is still alive, this would not happen.
Spin Magazine has reminded us that a guy who was not even from Seattle and his two buddies changed everything on September 24th, 1991, with the release of an album with a baby bobbing for money on its cover, and songs about rape and drugging inside. It was a record that let the indie kids feel that they did matter, that there was someone else out there who did feel as fucked up as they felt and that they were no longer going to be just stuck trawling alone through secondhand clothing and record stores in vain. It was a real triumph of its time and we are still dealing with its many aftershocks.
I do remember the first time I heard that song: I was at home, in our front room, and the video was played on a national video channel (insert whatever name you want here). There was that guy screaming about being entertained in the dark after loading up on drugs (or was that guns?) and I liked it. I really did. And along with that reaction was one where I thought that no one else would care about these guys. I had already listened to Husker Du, the Pixies, Bad Religion and the best years of the late, great R.E.M. all by my lonesome. How could I possibly believe that things were going to change now?
No one ever said, “I told you so”. They would not have said it to me, and the people who deserved to hear it would have beaten you up. The few other friends I had who were indie fans were in – okay, I’ll say it – their own particular Nirvana. In a sea of people devoted to Bon Jovi, Poison, Def Leppard and Samantha Fox, this mattered. I lived down so many interests for so long that I forgot it was possible to like something popular.
Oh, wait, I forgot why I started this: my iPod. Never saw it coming in ’91. I did not even have a Discman. My own Walkman played only tapes and that was the copy of the album I kept in my collection. But it took me a long time to get to it. Over a year, actually. Remember: I was an indie kid. I was not supposed to listen to the same music fans of Depeche Mode and New Kids on the Block. I was not supposed to see our hallways filled up with plaid and polyester on our free civvies day (we had uniforms in high school). We were few and I thought that it would stay that way. And suddenly we were it. I never bought a Nirvana t-shirt, but people knew I was a fan. For us, the looking glass had turned inside out. It was a moment that seemed to be ours. And, of course, it was not meant to last.
Yeah, my iPod froze. I was looking for a CD of the album to get me in the mood. And they actually had it. Not even a scratch on the under surface and all the memories kept flooding back. And then my music device became useless for the first time. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but it seemed like an appropriate omen. Listening to my old Husker Du or Replacements favorites on an expensive toy is an almost out-of-body thing to do. It really makes no sense..at all. And that stayed with me as I made more notes for this piece and wondered where I would begin.
I had rebelled against the rebels. I had had enough of being right while the world thought I was so wrong about the music I listened to and I never really accepted that the Northwest’s best threesome could be so big in a world that considered Pearl Jam and Soundgarden punk or even that word (which I refuse to use here).
So, they came and went. Kurt is gone… Krist is an activist of some sort (should look into this). And Dave is a lead singer for a group that rarely held my interest after their first album These things happen. And here we are, living in an age where spandex and hair metal have no hold on the charts anymore, Blink-182 is considered punk rock and Green Day can work with U2 and not be called sellouts. I just wonder sometimes.
Oh, and my iPod is just fine now. Off to ruin my ears again.
